A Golden Child
by ThoseWhoWander98
Summary: "All the hobbit children born that year had golden hair." A oneshot from Sam's point of view about the birth of his first child, Elanor.


_**A Golden Child**_

Sam sits outside of Bag End, watching the sun rise slowly over the rolling, grassy green hills of his home. It still fills him with a sense of accomplishment and love when he thinks about all the times he could have died, never to come home... yet, here he sits. The birds flutter through the air, crying out to each other in the early morning, and dew tickles Sam's hairy feet where they rest on the grass beneath him.

Sam suddenly feels a hand, light on his shoulder, and recognizes it as Rosie's. He stands and turns to face her, smiling, but confused. "You shouldn' be up," he says, glancing tenderly down at his wife's swollen stomach. "You need your energy, Rose."

Rosie shakes her head. "I'll be fine, Sam. Come inside. I made you breakfast." Sam grins, smoothing Rosie's curly hair.

"Well, I guess I can' say no to that, then, love," he says. The two go inside and when Sam sees the piles of steaming eggs, sausage, and roasted mushrooms he pecks Rosie on the lips in thanks. "Is Frodo up yet?" he asks her.

Rosie shakes her head. "He gets so tired. He's still sleeping, darling. I wouldn't wake him." Sam nods, piling up two plates with food. He hands the first to Rosie and keeps the second for himself, saving ample food for Frodo when he gets up.

Rosie rises to clear up. Sam is just about to object when she drops the empty plate she's holding and bends over, gasping. "Rose!" he cries. In a heartbeat, he is at her side. One hand on her arm, the other on her shoulder, he leads her to the couch and sits her down, nervously watching her hard breathing and pained expression.

"Sam—Sam!" Rosie exclaims. "Sam, get Frodo. Tell him to—make him get—Sam, oh, Sam, the baby's coming."

It takes about a millisecond for the news to sink in before Sam becomes a wild flurry of activity. He doesn't want to leave Rosie alone—he absolutely can't leave the house. So who will get the midwife? She doesn't live far...

_Frodo._

"Frodo! _Frodo!_" Sam shakes his friend out of bed. "I need you... you have to get Midwife Daisy, now, Frodo. Rosie's... the baby's comin'."

Frodo still isn't very alert. "You get her. You're the father," he says blearily, only half awake. Sam snaps his fingers in front of Frodo's face, and suddenly Frodo is fully awake.

"I can' leave her, Frodo, I can' leave her. Not now. GO!" He almost rolls Frodo out of bed, and then runs back to where he left Rosie as his friend runs down the dirty street.

Sam smoothes Rosie's hand gently, sitting next to her, poised to get up at a moment's notice. "Sam..." she whispers, wincing.

"It's okay, Rose, dear, he's comin' back. He's goin' to be back with the midwife. I promise you, Rosie, it's goin' to be all right," Sam tells her, kissing her forehead lightly. "I love you." Sam feels helpless, watching Rosie suffer, but he figures that all he can do is try and make her feel better, if only until Frodo returns. He strokes her hair, keeping it from falling across her eyes, and every so often he gives her hand a little squeeze. It seems like hours before Frodo returns, Midwife Daisy behind him, her bag clattering loudly.

Sam gets up off the couch and moves behind it, and Frodo from a few feet away detects a subtle anger, a subtle instinctive protectiveness in his eyes. He can tell Sam isn't comfortable with the midwife treating _hi_s Rosie. Frodo can tell Sam doesn't want anybody else by her side. The muscles in his face are tense, his eyes too bright and his lips pressed together.

Sam feels uneasy watching the midwife do all the normal midwife things. All of a sudden it seems like she has cut him off from Rosie, from this all-important moment when his child is being born. The only part of his wife that he can reassure with the light touch of his calloused brown hands his her dark curly hair as he gently holds it back, off her sweaty face. He doesn't say anything—he doesn't have to, and he's frightened that if he did try to speak, he'd say something stupid, so he keeps quiet, letting Rosie know he is there physically, not verbally.

Hours later, the midwife's triumphant cry—"it's a beautiful hobbit-girl!"—lets all the tension and worry fall out of Sam's face and he moves around to the front of the couch, holding his Rosie's hand, grinning. Sweetly, he whispers to her, "Oh, Rose, I'm so glad. I'm so glad."

The midwife has wrapped the round-faced, golden-haired, crying baby in a tiny little blanket and hands her to Sam. Rosie laughs suddenly, and Sam looks at her. "Rosie, what is it?"

"We can't name a _girl_ Frodo, Sam," she says, giggling almost giddily with joy and overwhelming relief. "What will we call her? We need something beautiful—something perfect."

Sam thinks for a long time. A flower-name? Should the daughter of a gardener be named after a plant, a blossom? So many hobbit-girls are named after Daisys, Roses, Lilys. Sam frowns. They could name the child after her mother... Suddenly, another thought drives that one from his mind.

"Elanor." He looks at the beaming Rosie for approval, and it strikes him how much more beautiful she is like this, bursting at the seams with happiness and satisfaction. Her eyes are shadowed, her skin is pale, and her breath is still somewhat short, but despite her fatigue, she looks like nothing could upset her right now. "After the flowers, th' Elven-flowers in Lorien," he explains.

"It's perfect," Rosie decides. "Little fair Elanor, the most beautifulest of hobbit-children!" Sam laughs as his wife pecks him on the cheek.

Smiling, he says, "It's a blessin' she looks more like her mother than her da." He looks around the room, absolutely satisfied. The midwife and Frodo have backed off, leaving Sam and Rosie some space. Sam knows that soon Frodo will go tell Merry, who will tell Pippin, who will tell the rest of the Shire. But for now he's happy to share this moment, this seemingly infinite second of perfection with his wife and daughter—his family. Softly, he whispers to Rosie, "Elanor, our golden child."

_The End _


End file.
